


Every Man Gets His Wish

by sometimesimeow



Category: Men's Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alpha Frank Lampard, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Blowjobs, Bottom Christian Pulisic, Boypussy, Chair Sex, Come play, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Facials, Intersex Omegas, Knotting, M/M, Office Sex, Omega Christian Pulisic, Oral Sex, Pilot One-Shots, Porn With Plot, Power Imbalance, Riding, Road Head, Top Frank Lampard, Unreliable Narrator, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 10:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesimeow/pseuds/sometimesimeow
Summary: Ever since he was a kid, Frank Lampard was told he could have whatever wanted. Christian, on the other hand, was taught there was only one way for an omega to have the same.
Relationships: Christian Pulisic/Frank Lampard
Comments: 24
Kudos: 145





	Every Man Gets His Wish

**Christian**

Omegas were liabilities. This was a fact. Christian Pulisic’s parents never wanted him to think he was less than the alphas he played with, so they never told him the truth. He naively believed for years that hard work, talent, and ambition was enough to get him on the field, even if the slightest whiff of his pheromones could cause a riot in the stands. The David Beckhams and Lionel Messis of the world further foddered the lie, letting his delusions grow until Christian thought he could be an omega like that. 

The Premier League opened Christian's eyes. When the American transferred to Chelsea, he learned that the comparison did more harm than good. No omega less than a genius was worth the missed week of practice or the risk of losing a player during a crucial match. Few omegas were worth the lawsuits that came with player on player assaults, and if you were the unlucky victim who reported that one, nonconsensual blowjob in the showers, then you’d be the same whore who cost your team the match because you couldn't keep your mouth stuffed long enough not to report the captain or star defender to the manager.

Christian didn’t want to be _that omega_. The one who couldn’t take a joke when a defender grabbed his ass and said he hoped to see it bounce when he ran, or the one who complained to the manager when the guys asked him to bend over in the locker room when he came out in nothing but a towel. Instead, Christian was a good sport. He laughed when they did and made sure to get fully dressed before he hung out with them. Christian wanted to play and win games and be a part of a team. If that meant laying low and not stepping on any toes, he’d do that.

Christian learned the hard way that wasn’t enough.

Frank Lampard was a Chelsea legend. He was Christian's coach, considered to be one of the greatest midfielders of his generation, and the only midfielder to ever score more than 150 goals in the Premier League. Christian looked him up like crazy before they met in person. He learned the man’s fellow teammates spoke the world of him, and the players respected him as a father. Christian admired his creative plays and eye for tactics. Christian desperately wanted to play under him.

After several months of training, Lampard still wouldn’t let him. The man had made it clear from the start that Christian’s record-breaking transfer fee wasn’t going to win him a spot on the field. Christian’s frustration grew after being benched for the fourth game in a row. He wasn’t called in for something as small as a last-minute substitution. At that point, everyone on the first team had played except for him. It wasn’t fair. He did everything right. In the locker room, Giroud suggested Christian remind their manager what an omega was good, his hot breath soaking up his back. Jorginho second that opinion, telling Christian there were easier ways for an omega to “prove his worth” and it didn’t need to be one the field. “We all know the gaffer likes to have _a lot_ _of fun_.” Christian ran out of the room after that. He winced when he heard the alphas laugh behind him, but Christian knew he’d overstayed his welcome.

Finally, when the practice was over, the omega couldn’t hold it in any longer. He cornered Lampard in the parking lot. He wanted to make sure they were alone, in fear of everyone finding out he was meeting the man in secret. He didn’t want them to think he was a moaner or a brat, but Christian was angry. He left a good team to come to Chelsea. A team he was happy with, who respected his talents and played him as much as they could.

“Why?” Christian asked. “Why don’t you want me? What do I have to do to get you to notice me?”

Lampard stared at him. Christian swore the air got colder where he stood; he started shivering. He’d forgotten how bad English nights got and didn’t bring his jacket. Without thinking, he took a step forward to get closer to Lampard’s warmth.

“I have many good players. You need to show me you deserve to play over anyone else,” Lampard explained.

“Are you sure that’s the reason?”

Lampard narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you trying to imply?”

Christian swallowed. What could he say? ‘I’m the only unmated omega on the team. I know you didn’t want to sign me. You don’t trust me. You don’t want to risk it.’

“I am one of the best players. You know this,” Christian hated the whine in his voice. “I want to play.”

“As I said, you have to earn it.” Lampard shook his head in irritation.

Christian felt more lost than ever. He didn’t know how to show Lampard he wanted this any more than he already did. Christian was a good player. He worked hard. He didn’t start any problems or cause any drama. He wasn’t like the others, who showed up late or hungover or smelling like sex—and not from their wives. He kept his head in the game, and his career above anything else. He did almost everything an omega in football should do.

Before Lampard could get away, Christian grabbed his arm. He begged Lampard to tell him what he wanted.

“I’ll do anything,” Christian begged. He hated the whine that came out of his throat. It was instinctive. Omegas’ larynxes were shaped to be able to produce sounds to attract attention in times of stress, arousal, or need. Right now, Christian _needed_ to play. “I’ll do anything to prove myself to you. Please," Christian said softly. "Notice me." 

Lampard stared at him. His eyes were dark. Christian felt a chill run up his spine when he saw the man’s expression. Before he could turn back, Lampard grabbed his face and pulled their mouths together. Christian’s first kiss was sweet and barely more than a peck. He shared it with some alpha he went to school with from Germany, who decided to leave the academy and become a brewer instead. Christian never heard from him again. It was a goodbye kiss, and Christian remembered it fondly.

This kiss was with a man. Christian had never been kissed by a grown alpha before, and the results were literally breathtaking. He gripped onto the man’s jacket, feeling lightheaded and footed as he struggled to stand. The action brought them closer, and the kiss deepened despite Christian’s wishes. Lampard kept kissing him until he thought he would suffocate. As the tongue raped his mouth, Christian try to plea with him. “I can’t breathe,” Christian tried to say. “Please.” But his pleas were muffled by the other man’s mouth. Lampard’s hands gripped his ass and squeezed, hard enough to bruise. Christian whimpered loudly.

When Lampard finally released his mouth, they were both panting. Lampard’s hands were still on him. He couldn’t run away.

“Is this what you wanted?” Lampard growled out. His lips moved onto his neck and began to suck. “To get fucked by me?” He whispered in his ear. Lampard’s hands were moving all over his body. Christian felt trapped. 

No, Christian thought. He wanted to scream out his refusal. He didn’t want this, but his whole body froze. Suddenly, his teammates’ words and the implication of the kiss dawned on him.

Lampard thought Christian was propositioning him for playing time. _And_ he was interested in the offer.

The wetness in his jeans matched the bile in Christian’s stomach. He hated how good Lampard felt pressed against his body; the heat from the alpha’s core was exactly what the omega in Christian wanted on a cold night. Lampard kissed him again, and Christian didn't fight it. He couldn't stop thinking about wrong this situation was and _why him_. Lampard was nearly twice Christian’s age, but he was handsome. He was rich. He didn’t need to fuck one of his players to get laid. 

But, still, he was interested, Christian thought.

The footballer nodded because he didn’t trust his voice. Lampard opened the door for Christian, and despite the pull on his bones that told him to leave, Christian got in the man’s car. Lampard drove him to a hotel where the receptionist recognized him, and Lampard brought him to what Christian knew was his usual room. They didn’t waste any time. Lampard came in his pussy twice and used his ass once. Before they went to sleep, he made Christian clean off his cock with his mouth and put his dick in his ass again.

When Christian woke up, Lampard was gone. He sent the boy a text saying he’d cover the hotel bill, and he expected to see him at practice that afternoon. Christian spent the entire morning taking showers, hoping to get less dirty than he felt. 

Lampard didn’t play him that week. Christian was days away from calling his dad to cry about what he’d done before Lampard called him to his office to explain that Christian was starting the following Friday. The happiness bubbled inside Christian, and the smile on his face couldn’t be taken off, not even when Lampard got up from his seat. 

Christian’s smile only faltered a bit when he saw the man coming towards him. The omega looked down, and when Lampard asked if there was anything wrong, Christian mustered up his strength to tell him no. Nothing was wrong as long as he gave Lampard what he wanted. Christian kissed Lampard in the middle of his office and then got on his knees to put his cock in his mouth.

Omegas were liabilities—it only made sense that they made up their cons by proving their pros. What was one week every three months when you could have pussy on demand for years?

***

Lampard got greedier over time. He used to call Christian maybe two or three times a week to meet up in his favorite hotel, and they’d fuck throughout the night until it was time for one of them to leave. Nowadays, Lampard just met Christian at the end of practice. On the rarer but still too frequent occasions, he asked Christian to meet in the middle of training. Christian made a note of his kinks. He liked unconventional spaces. If Christian was alone in the shower, Lampard’s dick couldn’t slip in him fast enough. If Christian were the last person on the field, Lampard would bend him over the benches and start thrusting. He was fond of spanking judging by the number of times Christian came home with a red ass, and he liked to jerk off on Christian. His face, his mouth, his pussy was often coated in cum by the end of their sessions. The one time they used condoms, Lampard filled it up and poured it onto Christian’s cunt before fingerfucking his semen in him. Next time, Lampard told Christian he wanted to see him drink out of the rubber.

Christian never refused; even as it became apparent, Lampard was escalating. He made an effort to sound eager, too. Once, Christian gave a less than enthused reaction to one of Lampard’s _suggestions_ , and Lampard went as far as banning him from training the next day. The player never made that mistake again. Christian always made Lampard feel good about using him—no matter how much it hurt. Today, Christian’s pussy was still swollen from last night’s use, but Lampard wanted him as soon as training ended. Lampard pressed his hand on the small of his back as they were walking to the locker rooms and told him to skip the showers in a swift whisper. Christian pretended he didn’t see the way his teammates looked at him. Instead, he walked into Lampard’s office and locked the door. Without waiting for a command, Christian sat on Lampard’s lap and kissed him like the movies. Christian knew Lampard was a sucker for those sorts of kisses. 

“Fuck,” Lampard groaned when they parted. The manager’s mouth was on Christian’s neck; the second their lips separated. “You taste so good. I love how you smell after practice.”

Pervert, Christian thought. Still, he smiled because Lampard was in a good mood, and that meant he wouldn’t work him so hard today. He sucked and licked Christian’s neck, teeth scraping against his skin, threatening to latch on at any moment. Christian once expressed his concerns about his father finding the marks, and Lampard responded by biting him between his thighs so hard he almost bled. Now, Christian just undid the man’s pants.

Christian’s breath hitched when the tip of the cock touched his cunt. He was so sore. His pussy was throbbing throughout practice, and it took all his strength not to let his legs give out when he was doing laps. 

“You okay?” Lampard asked when they stopped kissing him. His blue eyes were staring. Christian avoided those eyes like the devil. He swore they could look right through him.

“I’m fine,” Christian muttered. He grabbed Lampard’s cock and tried to position it for a better angle. Lampard was big. Heavy as weights, too. It’ll feel better once it was in him, Christian reminded himself. The endorphins would kick in for the pain, and his instincts would make sure his cunt was slobbering over that dick all night.

“You want to stop?” Lampard asked coolly.

The player shook his head. Christian knew Lampard asked these questions to test his resolve. Lampard was rock hard. The man wanted to fuck something tonight, and if that wasn’t Christian, then he’d find someone else. Christian would still pay for it tomorrow, resting his healing hole on the bench while he watched the players train for a match, he should be in. 

“I like it when it hurts,” Christian told him. “Reminds me of how much you stretch me out.” Lampard loved when Christian acted like those omegas. He heard the line in some porno he watched. He’d been binge-watching most viewed videos of every pornographic site he could find, hoping to pick up on the techniques and tricks that might make Lampard happy.

“Shit,” Lampard swore when Christian started to sit on his cock. Precum was leaking out of the man’s cock. The fat head of Lampard’s cock nudged his hole, lubing his way in for a few seconds before spreading him wide. The fat, swollen lips of his pussy sucked him in despite the pain.

“Ah!” Christian bit his lip to hold back his voice.

“Christian,” Lampard growled. He gripped Christian’s hips hard enough to bruise. Christian closed his eyes and dropped onto the cock in a swift motion. Lampard opened his mouth, and Christian took the opportunity to shove his tongue inside his mouth to keep his screams from leaving his own.

Christian was _so fucking full._ He forced himself to ride the alpha under him, hard and fast, like nothing matter more than getting stuffed with some prime, alpha cock. Christian clenched his cunt, bruising up his insides to get that big, bulging knot every omega needed to get the fuck of their lives. Lampard was already halfway there when he entered Christian, and now, a swollen bulge was ready to ruin Christian’s insides. His manager’s fingers dug into his hips.

The office chair started to creak, and the sound of flesh slapping on leather echoed in the office. Christian bounced on the cock hard enough that Lampard’s balls left an imprint. When he slowed down, he made sure to grind onto the knot, so it pressed against his womb. He slapped Christian’s ass hard, urging him to go even faster. Christian complied by fucking himself on the cock brutally. His inner muscles tightened around the knot with such dedication; it was impossible for the alpha not to rock up against him and ground himself deep into Christian’s cunt.

Christian’s face flushed with pleasure and pain, the only combination he knew when Frank Lampard’s huge dick was fucking him. His fingers gripped the alpha’s hair as the abuse his cunt suffered tripped him into an orgasm. Omegas were made for fucking, and that was proven when Lampard’s single, final thrust upward, led Christian gushing over Lampard’s cock and suit. Lampard followed shortly after, and he pumped Christian’s cunt with a huge load of his own.

Lampard came gallons, and it took a while for the alpha’s knot to deflate. The experience was long and humiliating, and still, Christian’s cunt never failed to milk him dry each time. Finally, the knot shrug and Lampard were able to slip free of Christian’s wet, sloppy cunt. He slouched onto the chair in utter bliss.

Christian allowed himself several minutes of recovery before getting off the sea. The cum leaked out of his thighs. Before he could button up his jeans, Lampard grabbed his wrist. The man pulled him back until Christian’s cunt was leveled with his face. He used his two thumbs to spread the lips apart, earning a weak, gasp from Christian’s lips.

Lampard looked up at him and smiled. He pushed his thumb inside. More spilled out of Christian’s cunt, staining the alpha’s finger.

“You were so good today,” Lampard praised before pressing in deeper. 

Christian whimpered. He smiled shakily at Lampard, hoping it masked his discomfort.

“Good enough to play this week?” Christian asked hopefully.

Lampard chuckled. “If you keep your pussy that tight, you can play whenever you want.” Christian released a sigh of relief. He thanked him despite the chills running down his spine. He even managed to smile again.

“I love your smile,” Lampard told him. He kissed his hands and let go. “If I could fuck you all the time, I would.”

“Thanks,” Christian said again. He supposed that was a genuine compliment. Frank Lampard was no stranger to scandal. Stories about his perverted adventures plagued his reputation as much as they did about his football; he was the sort of player referenced when talking about the stereotypical football lifestyle. Christian knew all about his binge-drinking and his debauched exploits that led to not one, but two known sex tapes. One of which Christian and his friends at the academy had secretly downloaded and watched over in a dorm sleepover. He remembered giggling about the video, with the grainy quality and poor pixels, blushing like the virgins they were and unable to finish it to the end. Christian remembered telling his friends that Lampard was handsome and them teasing him when his transfer went through. He laughed with them then.

He doesn’t know what to say to them now.

England was so different from Germany. Sure, the footballers there had their fair share of newsworthy articles, but never to the level of the Premier League. Blackout drunk players sleeping on the hoods of their six-figure cars, married men choking wagabees with their dick in the VIP room—Christian had seen it all, and he heard it all. He remembered them talking about an omega who fucked three coaches in his academy for a recommendation to a low-level team, and another omega who gave blowjobs to his teammates during halftime for a substitution. The horror stories were endless, from that one omega who screwed a sponsor to keep his position, to another who got gangbanged by a rival team as punishment for a loss.

Lampard was demanding, but he wasn’t a worst-case scenario.

“Do you need a ride?” Lampard offered when Christian reached the door.

Christian startled. “Uh, no. I brought my car.” He just turned the knob when Lampard offered again.

“It’s late. I can drive you,” Lampard insisted.

“My car—"

“You can leave it here overnight.” Lampard put on his coat and wrapped his arm around Christian’s waist to keep him from running. He pressed his lips against Christian's ear. “I don’t want to leave you just yet.”

Christian swallowed his refusal down his throat and followed Lampard to his car. 

***

Christian didn’t ask questions. If Lampard wanted to drive him home, then Christian would get driven home. He was about to put on his seatbelt when Lampard told him to stop.

“I want to try something new,” Lampard said as he unzipped his pants. He pulled out his cock, erect and damp from their earlier session. He smirked at his player. “What do you think? It’ll be fun.”

Christian stared at him. Unable to muster out any more fake smiles, he nodded. He dipped his head onto Lampard’s crotch.

“Fuck.” Lampard moaned when Christian took his cock in his mouth. “Fuck, that’s it.” He started his car and drove out of the parking lot. When he got on the road, Lampard’s hand shoved Christian’s head further onto the cock. His fingers held Christian’s hair in a death grip, forcing the player’s face against Lampard’s crotch. The balls pressed against Christian’s cheeks in a way that would leave bruises tomorrow.

Christian choked, but Lampard liked the way Christian’s throat constricted around his dick. “God, you’re better than a pro,” the man grunted out.

Practice made perfect; Christian supposed. He squeezed his left thumb—amazing the tricks a simple internet search could get you—and suppressed his gag reflex as much as humanely allowed. Christian swallowed his coach’s cock until it was stuffed entirely in his warm, tight throat. He could feel the car accelerate. Christian squeezed his eyes shut. He focused entirely on the task in front of him. The last thing he wanted to think about was dying in a car crash with a dick in his mouth.

Christian bobbed his head up and down the cock, letting Lampard treat his throat like a sleeve. Lampard’s thighs shifted apart, giving Christian more opportunity to get deeper. The much younger player swallowed the cock each time it stretched his throat and sometimes moaned to press a small vibration around the shaft. Lampard sped up the car. “Wish I could just keep you as a cockwarmer,” he moaned.

Christian winced—he hoped Lampard didn’t get any ideas. His throat was starting to burn, and it was hard to breathe. Lampard didn’t make it easier when his hand started to shove the Christian’s head down, so he was balls deep in his player’s throat. Lampard’s firm grip controlled the pacing after that. Christian gagged but didn’t struggle when Lampard started moving him up and down his dick. He was treating him like a toy now. 

“I’m so lucky to have you, fuck—fuck; you feel so good!” Lampard gasped out. He moaned some more and bucked his hips upward so he could fuck Christian’s face. He called Christian’s ‘a perfect little cockslut.’ “I’m going to give you a huge load tonight; you like that? You filthy whore…”

Whore, fuck did Christian hate that word. He was thankful he couldn’t respond. He could feel the cock twitching in his throat. The car sped forward at full force as his coach came straight into his stomach, Christian’s eyes rolled back. The cum kept pouring in his mouth until Lampard released his head, and Christian instinctively pulled back. His face was soon covered in cum as the cock released the last of the spurts onto his face.

The car came to a halt. Christian was coughing as he tried to wipe the remains off his eyes. He heard Lampard laugh—he sounded out of breath and amused. Christian looked at him; true enough, the man was smiling, slumped against his car seat with one hand on the wheel.

“You look so pretty.” 

Lampard leaned forward to wipe the cum off Christian’s face. Christian couldn’t move as his coach coated his fingertips with his cum and then pressed it into Christian’s mouth. The player opened it obediently. He tasted Lampard’s skin as the man pressed his fingers against his tongue and moved down to shove the flavor down his throat. Lampard watched him with a predatory gleam. “I love how you look in my cum.”

Christian took slow breaths throughout their interaction. “Thank you,” he told Lampard. His voice was hoarse, but he did his best to sound sincere.

Lampard smiled again. Then, he gestured Christian back to his flaccid dick. “Why don’t you keep it warm for now?”

Christian swallowed the rest of the cum. He’d gone too far to say no. Christian went down on him again and instinctively started taking more in his mouth, which earned him a sharp smack on his bottom. 

“Just keep it wet,” Lampard ordered. He paused. “You can suck on it, but be gentle.”

Christian nodded and did as commanded, resolved to a soft, suction. Lampard moaned his approval. “…Yeah…just like that…” Christian remained Lampard’s cockwarmer throughout the car ride.

When Lampard arrived at Christian’s house, the boy had not stopped sucking. He heard Lampard chuckle, and tell him to get up. Christian complied, licking his raw lips. Lampard looked at his mouth. When the man lunged forward, Christian instinctively turned his head away.

Lampard pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

Christian shook his head. “Nothing.” He avoided Lampard’s eyes. “You came in my mouth.”

Lampard chuckled. “So?” He tried again, and Christian avoided him. Consciously, this time.

“We’re outside my house,” Christian tried again.

“I thought your dad went back home?”

“He did. It’s just…” Christian smiled awkwardly. “We’re in public. My neighbors could see.”

“Your neighbors live a mile off of here,” Lampard denied. “I could fuck you in your backyard, and they wouldn’t see.”

Again, with the ideas. Christian looked down at his hands, trying to think of an explanation. After a while, Lampard sighed.

“Fine.” Lampard agreed. “I get it.” He sounded so disappointed in Christian, and the player loathed to see the consequences tomorrow. He turned to explain when Lampard swooped in for a kiss. Christian was startled by the attack, and before he could react, Lampard pulled away. He laughed at Christian’s expression.

“I always want to kiss you,” Lampard told him. He touched Christian’s swollen lips. “No matter what’s been inside you.”

Christian couldn’t answer him. He thanked Lampard for the ride and moved to get out of the case.

“Since your father is gone, maybe you could invite me in one day.”

Christian froze. He turned back to see Lampard’s cold, blue eyes looking right through him. “I—” The excuse wouldn’t leave Christian’s mouth. Lampard smirked and told Christian not to worry about it. Before he could go, Lampard ordered Christian to wait; Christian obeyed while Lampard reached for something in the back of his car. He returned with a medium-sized gift bag.

Christian took it despite the way it burned his fingers when he touched it. He thanked Lampard and turned to leave.

“Christian, one more thing?” Christian faced him. “Get in early tomorrow," Frank ordered. "I want to see you before training.”

***

When Christian got home, he popped open a bottle of gifted bourbon and poured himself a hefty amount. He swished it in his mouth before swallowing and poured a second one and did the same thing. Then, Christian went into another room and opened his gift. He’d gotten plenty of presents from Lampard before. At first, they were sexual. Lingerie and toys, lubricants, videos he wanted to see together or wanted Christian to watch so they could ‘have some fun.’ Then, came the expensive watches and the new trainers and fancy clothes. Lampard used to get so upset when they’d ‘disappear’ or worse when it became evident Christian hadn’t even unwrapped the box. Christian hated receiving them. Now, he kept them in a separate room he didn’t touch unless he was forced to prove he still had them.

Today, Lampard gave him chocolate. A small batch of Hershey’s chocolate bars. Despite growing up surrounded by the diabetic capital of the world, Christian never got sick of Hershey’s. He supposed all the moving around to England and Germany made him homesick. He took a piece and popped it into his mouth. It tasted as good as he remembered. Then, after swallowing, he ate another piece. And another. He stared at the wrapper for a long time before getting up and returning to the bourbon. By the time the bottle was halfway done, he was ready to pass out. He would regret everything in the morning, but the alcohol wouldn’t make him sicker than he already was.

***

**Frank**

Frank Lampard made his first million before he turned twenty. He was never short on money—his father was a footballer and pushed his son to pursue the family passion. They were both fortunate that Frankie excelled in the sport, just as he excelled in everything he did. That was one of the things about Frank—he could have done anything in the world. He was smart, not just for a footballer, but genuinely smart. His teachers would stare in wonder at his near-perfect GSCE’s scores, and some tried to tempt him to pursue a career outside of football, but never getting through to him because football—according to his coaches, his friends, his family—was his life. Frank didn’t need another life—not like his father, who fucked his mistress on the weekends and played daddy to Frank’s half-siblings while his wife stayed at home. One day, he caught his mother cleaning out the stains on the sheets that his father fucked a stranger on; Frank said nothing and walked into the backyard to practice his free kicks.

Frank moved out of the house as soon as his professional debut. The football lifestyle suited to Frank. But there were consequences to giving that much money and autonomy and _power_ to children. Frank could do anything he wanted. He spent every night of his twenties binge drinking and the occasional coke bender. Frank woke up several mornings lodged inside an omega whose name he didn’t remember, before asking his girlfriend at the time to clean his cock when he got home. He cheated on all his partners—all models because footballers dated models or their high school sweethearts, and he didn’t have the latter, and no matter what, most of them forgave him or gave him ultimatums that never turned out in their favor. That was the life of a footballer, after all.

Sometimes his dick managed to fuck up his life. Frank got a few scandals underneath his belt –per requiem of a Premier League player—but everything would settle down after he scored a goal. Be good at football, and no one cared about what a train wreck you were. When he finally cleaned up his act, people praised him even harder. His sins absolved; Frank was on top again.

It wasn’t until years later that reality hit Frank for the first time. He’d just received the head coach position at Chelsea—his dream after retirement. He was gifted with a batch of extremely talented, expectedly wild players. He was reviewing match tapes one night when it dawned on him that instead of cuddling with his pretty wife and children, he was sitting alone in an empty house waiting for morning to come so he could be on the field again. The regret, loneliness, and disgust from the last two decades came to him at once. He grabbed some alcohol and drank himself to sleep, but the next day the feelings returned. They returned every night, whether he won or lost, and they didn’t seem in a hurry to go away. 

Then, Frank met Christian Pulisic.

Frank couldn’t understand how or why at first, but Christian made the loneliness subside. He wasn’t like the other players on the team. Maybe it was because he was American, or an omega, or had his father around to keep his head on straight, but he was different. Frank could see it as soon as they met.

On Christian’s first day of training with Chelsea, the boys on the team decided to take him out to celebrate. Some called it a kindness, but it was good publicity to show the alphas’ support of their new omega teammate. Frank went with them. He wanted to talk to Christian and make sure he felt safe with the new environment. It was daunting, being the only omega, and Frank wanted to take care of him.

The manager watched him through whiskey eyes throughout the night, tightening his grip on his glass whenever an alpha got too close. Christian always laughed off their flirtation; Frank wondered if he was used to the attention, if this was how he spent his nights typically—fluttering his eyelashes, bringing attention to his big brown eyes, biting his lips as alphas drooled over his ass, hoping to be the one inside him, and then rejecting them with kind professionalism. Frank was startled out of his thoughts when Christian got up from his seat. He told everyone he had to get home, and despite their jeers of disappointment, Christian waved goodbye and left.

Frank followed him out. He justified his behavior by saying he couldn’t leave an omega out at night without a chaperone. When he went outside, he overheard the boy talking to his father on the phone, saying he’d be back soon and that his teammates were _nice_. Frank scoffed at the assumption, and Christian heard him. He turned around and told his father his coach was here, so he had to hang up.

“Hey.” Christian smiled at him. “Did you need something?”

Frank stared at him. The streets weren’t empty, but Frank knew that didn’t mean he was safe. Anyone could have just taken Christian home to do as they pleased. “I didn’t want you waiting outside alone. Especially after drinking.”

Christian snorted. “I had, like, two beers.” 

Frank raised an eyebrow.

Christian laughed. “Seriously! I’ve lived in Germany since I was sixteen. If you think your weak, British beer is enough to get me drunk, you’re crazy.” Christian grinned. “No offense,” He added as an afterthought. He grinned at Frank.

Frank shook his head and smiled back. “I want to wait with you.” 

“Okay, _alpha_ ,” Christian teased. The words brought a shiver up Frank’s spine. He turned to look at Christian, but the boy was staring at the street, waiting for his carshare to come. His ears were red and gave Frank another sly, sideways glance. It hit Frank like a freight train— _this boy was flirting with him._

Frank hated how his interest butterflied in his stomach. Christian was almost half his age. He shouldn’t be flattered by the attraction, and his eyes shouldn’t watch the way Christian’s tongue flicked his lips to recover from the drying night air. Frank could hear his heart pound as he stared. Their eyes met again, when Christian turned his head to check him out, and then he blushed when they met. It was lovely, and Frank was happy he could cause the reaction in someone so young and pretty.

Soon, Christian’s driver arrived, and Christian, with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, thanked Frank for keeping him safe. Frank watched the car drive away until it was out of sight. He stayed standing there for a while, waiting for Christian to turn around. When he didn’t, Frank went back into the restaurant to tell everyone he was going home. He dreamt of Christian that night; every day since then, the boy drove him crazy.

Two weeks after Lampard decided to play Christian, the omega acted on his initial flirtation. Frank was too weak to resist him, and though he struggled with the decision to debut him after their affair, he eventually relented. Christian was an excellent player. He needed to have his moment. Frank couldn’t refuse to play him in fear of the accusations; Christian didn’t deserve that, and Frank couldn’t keep disappointing him. Frank wanted to give Christian everything.

Christian was sweet, gorgeous, _kinky as fuck_ ; he was down for whatever Frank wanted to do. Frank chalked part of it up to youthful exuberance. Christian never had any of these experiences before Frank and Frank couldn’t deny the thrill of teaching someone—he was a coach after all—and Christian was always eager for a new lesson. Insatiable without being slutty. He wasn’t like the omegas Frank used to associate with, either. Christian wasn’t fake or shameless, he was reliable and funny, and a little clumsy and awkward, but he loved football as much as Frank did, and understood why Frank was tired after a long day, why he was upset after a loss and the pure elation he got after a win. Frank never received that empathy from any of his partners. 

The only problem was that Christian was his player, and he was so young. If word got out about their relationship, there’d be hell to pay. Christian’s entire career would revolve around being _that omega_. Frank wouldn’t let that happen to him, even when the thought of waiting for Christian to become more established killed him.

The injustice of their situation was the reason Frank got so upset when Christian came to practice hungover today. It wasn’t that Frank was waiting for an hour to arrive, worried sick something had happened when he didn’t pick up the phone. It wasn’t even that Frank ran to the locker rooms in hopes everything was a misunderstanding, looking like an idiot in front of his team as he yelled at them to find Christian, only to have the boy in question stumble into the locker room, tripping over his feet with bloodshot eyes and the rest of the signs of a hangover. The indignation Frank felt was indescribable. Here Frank was, putting his life with Christian on hold, and Christian was fucking up by arriving to practice in a state that would jeopardize his entire life. He lost control. Frank yelled at Christian in front of everyone, telling him how badly he screwed up. It wasn’t fair to the omega—Christian wasn’t even close to the first person to come into the locker room late or hungover, but it was different because it was Christian, and his relief prompted his anger that Christian wasn’t hurt, and guilt from the fact that Frank didn't walk him to his door last night, and even though he was okay now, there were other chances that he wouldn’t be because Frank wasn’t with him all the time. They didn’t live together. He wasn’t his mate. He couldn’t show concern like other alphas, and it was a fucking kick in the balls to think Christian would leave him for someone who could.

All these emotions were released at once. When Frank finished with his tirade, he stormed out of the dressing room. He didn’t listen to Christian’s protest; he only warned him against taking it easy during practice, despite wanting nothing more than to see his omega rest the whole day.

Christian followed him up a half an hour later. Frank looked up when he arrived in the room and saw that his hair was wet. “You should be at training.”

“I wanted to say sorry,” Christian told him. “Please don’t be angry.”

Lampard sighed, and without thinking, slammed his hand on the desk as he stood up. Christian flinched like he’d been hit. He took a step back when Frank stepped forward. The reaction killed him, because he never, ever wanted an omega to be afraid of him, certainty not Christian.

Before Frank could apologize for his temper, Christian walked up to him. He grabbed Frank’s hands and guided them to his hips. He fluttered his lashes up to meet Frank’s gaze before hastily looking down. Even after all their time together, Christian was too shy to look him in the eye. Frank would have been amused if Christian didn't ask: “Do you want to punish me?”

Frank snapped out of his thoughts. “What?”

“It’s okay,” Christian told him. “I know you like it.” He pulled down his pants. Frank’s hands were still on him. He could feel the heat radiating from his ass. “I’ll bend over the desk, and you can do whatever you like.”

“What the fuck?” Frank shoved him off. 

"What's the matter?" Christian asked. 

"“Do you think this is going to fix everything? Spreading your legs whenever you screw up?”

Christian was taken back. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“Yeah, ‘fuck him and get a free pass.’” Frank shook his head. “Are you going to start blowing your teammates for assists, now? Should I put my name on a waiting list.”

“I wouldn’t—"

“Don’t.” Frank cut him off. “You act like a whore; you’ll be treated like a whore,” Frank warned him. He was about to lecture his omega when he saw the hurt look on Christian’s face. The boy clenched his fist, and it looked like tears were ready to fall.

“I’m not a whore,” Christian snapped at him.

Frank startled. 

“I’m not…” Christian shook his head. “Forget it.” He turned around to leave, but Frank rushed over to stop him.

"Christian!" Frank grabbed Christian and pulled him back. Christian tried to get him off, but he wasn't strong enough.

“I’m sorry," Frank told him. "It just slipped out.” Frank stroked Christian’s face, but the boy looked away. He held him still and gave him a soft, gentle kiss. Christian didn’t look any less upset, but he seemed to calm down. That was a good sign, Frank thought. Right? “You’re not a whore. I don’t know why I said that. You're mine. Only mine.”

Christian didn’t answer. Frank tried to coax a response. “You know how I feel about you.” He smiled for the first time since Christian arrived, and it was easy given his proximity to his omega. He pressed his nose against Christian’s head. He showered, but his scent was still there. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll take you out to dinner tonight, hey—look at me.”

Frank held his face up, so they had to look at each other. Christian tried to dart his eyes, but Frank’s grip was firm. “I know a nice place,” he told Christian. “It’s quiet. Discreet. No one will find out.”

Christian swallowed. Frank could feel the reaction against his palm. It made him think of the other things Christian swallowed, and his cock twitched. He willed it to go down, but he was sure Christian felt it.

“Do I have a choice?” Christian asked.

Frank chuckled at his petulance. Christian sounded unbearably young.

“No,” Frank joked.

***

Christian didn’t have a professional wardrobe at The Bridge, so Frank lent him the clothes he kept for an emergency—spills, dirt, a wild night out with no time to go home with a quick change. The suit jacket was too big for Christian, so he only wore Frank’s white shirt. It still didn’t fit but it was workable. Frank didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see Christian in his clothes. 

“You look so sexy,” Frank told Christian when they were seated in the restaurant. He pulled Christian into a kiss—the kind of kiss that made Christian cling to his chest in case his legs gave out.

Christian was panting when they parted. Before he could protest, Frank reassured him of the restaurant’s reputation. “This is a popular place for people who want more privacy on their dates. Nothing gets out, and there are several back doors people can use so reporters can’t see.” Frank didn’t tell Christian he was one of the many football patrons over the years. They should have given him a medal for the number of side pieces he fingered in the corner table. “No phones or cameras allowed, either. If they see you with one, you get kicked out and banned for life.”

“Wow,” was all Christian could say. He still looked nervous and almost jumped out of his skin when a waiter came by. Frank ordered them drinks and asked them for some time with the menu. While Christian concentrated on the list, Frank put his hand on his thigh. Christian turned to him.

“I want to say sorry for my behavior earlier.”

Christian was surprised. “You already did.”

“I still want to explain." 

Christian looked at him, and Frank could tell the memory of this morning still hurt him.

“When I was a player, omegas were treated terribly. There wasn't any omega in the league who didn’t have a reputation of fucking their way on the team. They were ridiculed by opposing players, the fans, and even their teammates, and it wasn’t long before some of them believed the shit that was said about them. If you were an omega player, you were expected to _do things_ to keep your position.” Frank omitted the times he was a part of the problem. He never forced an omega, but he hadn’t said no on occasion he’d been offered a taste, nor did he keep his mouth shut when the opportunity presented itself. “I don’t want that to happen to you. One wrong move and everyone starts talking about how you fucked your coach for special treatment.” 

Christian was sweating. His fists clenched. Frank could hear his heart pounding. Frank hated doing this to him; the words were hard to hear, but he did need to hear it. Frank figured it was time Christian received a wakeup call about his status in the Premier League. Dortmund was an omega’s paradise. They didn’t just have the highest level of omega players in the Bundesliga but in all of professional male football. Leaving there to come to Chelsea left Christian unprepared, and Frank couldn’t protect him if he didn’t know he needed the protection.

“You need to behave,” Frank told him. “Don’t ruin your life over a few bad decisions. If what we have gets out, that’s it for you. For an omega, that reputation carries throughout your career.” Frank wasn’t going to let that happen. He was going to take care of Christian. “I want you to be as successful.”

Christian blinked. “You do?”

“Yes,” Frank said. “You’re world-class. I can see it. We all can.”

Christian paused. Then, he grabbed Frank’s hand on his tight and interlaced their fingers. “I get it,” he assured Frank. “I’ll be good for you.”

Frank beamed at the response. “Great. Good.” He laughed in relief. “Um, now that we talked about that, do you mind telling me what happened last night? Why did you drink so much?”

Christian shrugged. “I…I had a hard time sleeping.” 

Frank frowned and kissed his forehead. “Don’t do that again. Take it from me. It’s a bad habit to get into and a worse one to break.”

Christian told him he understood. The waiter returned and asked if they were ready to order. Frank suggested he order for them, and Christian could pick out the dessert after. The player handed back his menu in response. 

***

During the dinner, they talked. It was perfect because Frank hadn’t had a real conversation with Christian since he signed. He knew the player was from Hershey, Pennsylvania, but he never knew about the field trips he would take as a child, or how the lamp posts looked like kisses and their street names were chocolate-themed. Frank learned after football, Christian’s favorite sport is basketball, and that he had a hoop in his house to play. Frank suspected he’d miss Germany, but it was confirmed when Christian talked about going driving around Dortmund city and attending Marco Reus’ wedding and having a drinking competition with the members of Bayern Munich—who’d also attended as guests of the groom. When they talked, Frank saw that Christian always smiled when he talked about his past, and it was stunning. He laughed when Frank made a joke and then gave a surprised look after he laughed like he didn’t realize Frank could be funny. Frank ended up wishing Christian laughed more. 

“I love your smile.” 

Christian gave a shy one in response. He sipped his wine.

Soon, the waiter came back to collect their plates and asked if they wanted dessert.

“Shit, I forgot.” Christian quickly grabbed the menu. He scanned through the names. “I don’t even know what I want.”

Frank smiled. “How about chocolate?”

Christian snorted. “Let me guess. All that Hershey’s talk got to you:”

Frank nodded, his pleasant expression never leaving. “You gave me a craving.”

Christian picked the first chocolate item on the menu, and the coach added that they would split it. He took the menu from them and responded it would come out shortly.

“Did you like your gift?”

Christian hesitated. “Yeah, uh, it reminded me of home.”

“I was worried you were feeling homesick,” Frank admitted. “I…” He started before stopping. Frank chuckled at his silliness. He was acting like a schoolboy. “I remember how you reacted to your other gifts. I was afraid you’d chuck the next watch I got you.”

“I appreciate—”

Frank stopped him. “It’s okay,” he told Christian. “I get it. You can’t be bought with pretty trinkets.” The alpha leaned forward, and when their lips were barely brushing against each other, he said, “I love that about you.”

Christian responded as expected. Embarrassed, a little scared, and unsure of how to react. He was so young, Frank thought.

The waiter came back with the dessert and two forks. They ate, maintaining light conversation throughout their treat. When they finished, Frank took care of the check. Christian offered to pay, and Frank knew it wasn’t for show like it was for his other dates. Christian loved being independent. It was nicer than he thought, being with someone who didn't care about his money. Frank still had some insecurity about the matter; because Christian didn't need his money, he could easily leave him whenever he wanted. Frank had to tell himself that only made their relationship more genuine. 

Before they left the restaurant, Frank told Christian to spend the night. Frank wanted them to sleep together. Christian agreed. He didn’t sound surprised—Frank supposed he knew him well enough that the offer was coming. It wasn’t until Frank got in the car, and looked at Christian, really looked at him, he decided he didn’t want this night to end in the morning, either. Frank drove past the hotel they frequented.

“Where are we going?”

“My house,” Frank told him. He smiled excitedly. He wanted to wake up next to Christian for one.

***

Christian was an _extremely_ enthusiastic lover. His youth gave him the boundless energy he needed for an enjoyable session with Frank, and his natural athleticism brought forth creativity and flexibility Frank couldn’t get with his other lovers. Frank could spend hours pounding into Christian’s slutty holes, just fucking his body open until his cunt and ass were loose, gaping, and raw from all the attention.

Christian moaned, laid down on the bed with his legs spread open and his fingers digging into the sheets for dear life. Frank’s fingers found their way into Christian’s pussy and started to piston them in and out of his cunt. Christian’s hole was reacting nicely; the sheets were soaking wet as Christian dripped all over them, and he milked Frank’s fingers as they came in, and his hole gaped when they came out.

“Fuck,” Christian gasped out. “Fuck me,” he moaned. “Fuck me harder. Please, please…”

Frank stroked his cock to fullness. He took out his fingers from Christian's cunt and used his juices as a lubricant. Christian was gushing. He couldn’t wait for his dick. He begged for it the second he saw it. Frank wondered how he got so lucky, to find a lover who was so desperate to get fucked, he’d do anything Frank asked.

Frank rewarded his pleas by pushing inside. He used his fingers to spread open Christian’s legs so he could get a better view of how his cock sunk into the boy’s hole. He tried to go slow, but as he pressed forward, he swore Christian only got tighter. 

“Why aren’t you loose yet?” Frank growled. “We’re fucking almost every day.”

The reaction was immediate. The coach didn’t understand how his omega could get more snug, but just the suggestion of a looseness had Christian clenching around the dick. Frank gave up on patience. He bottomed in the boy completely, almost coming from the sensation of that cunt wrapped around his cock.

Christian screamed in response. For a moment, Frank thought about giving Christian more time to adjust. Then, Christian made the silent plea for more by lifting his hips and pushing onto Frank’s cock.

Omegas were made for fucking. Frank couldn’t believe how lucky he was that Christian was giving up on his young, warm cunt to him for free. He drew back and snapped his hips forward.

“Ah!” Christian gasped.

Frank took it as a good sign and began to thrust in and out at a steady speed, getting faster each time Christian begged him for more—he whined for that thickness to enter him _harder_ and _faster_. Frank knew he liked it rough, and he was happy to comply with the relentless pace he set up. The older man was slamming into the boy, getting those insides bruised and ruined for the future. His fingers dug in the interiors of Christian’s thighs. Christian’s breathing was short, and drool dripped from his mouth. There was no sight sexier than an omega losing themselves to a thorough fucking.

When Frank knot started to form, that’s when things got really fun. The base of his cock started to swell and began to tug on the inner walls of the cunt, stretching it even further. Christian whined brokenly at the sensation. His instincts urged him to submit to the knotting, so he did. Frank watched his body grow completely limp against the sheets. He was barely conscious, but Christian cunt was working overtime to get them both off. Finally, after one particularly hard thrust, Christian lost all control. His entire body shuddered, and Frank could feel his orgasm around his cock, wrapping around him and not letting go. 

Frank stopped thrusting to look at Christian. He was so fucking beautiful, Frank admired. Christian’s entire body just fell apart underneath Frank, and yet his cunt was still hungry. Frank was in awe as Christian’s cunt continued to milk Frank for all he was worth.  
Frank groaned. He couldn’t stop now. He continued to mount his omega, roughly fucking through the loud squelches and slick—Christian was pouring—and becoming immersed with the whimpering mess underneath him. Despite coming, all omegas craved the fullness. It allowed Frank’s knot to tug and use the tender cunt to his satisfaction and enjoy the grip for as much as he liked.

Finally, Frank could feel the first of many orgasms coming to an end. He closed his eyes and thrust to the hilt for his pleasure. Frank moaned as he emptied his load inside of Christian’s limp body. He always came a lot, much to the chagrin of his former partners, but Christian wasn’t like them. He took his seed like a pro.

Frank dropped on top of the younger man and began to stroke him in a tender, comforting manner. Christian’s hair and skin were soaked in sweat. He was utterly ruined, and Frank loved it. His cock was still lodged in Christian's cunt, and Frank made no moves to leave. It’d been a dream of his to sleep inside Christian. Honestly, after tonight, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to leave.

On the verge of blacking out, Christian squirmed and tried to leave. Frank held him close.

“I want to wake up inside you,” Frank told him. Christian’s eyes flickered open before shutting again. He snuggled closer to his alpha, which made it easier for Frank to stay lodged inside. Soon, the only sounds his omega release were soft, quiet snores.

Frank chuckled and kissed his precious omega on the forehead. His moved positions a bit for comfort, before settling onto a gentle hold.

This was perfect, Frank thought. He didn’t ever want to leave.

***

The next day, the two of them arrive at the stadium before opening hours. Christian was to go in first and get his spare uniform before anyone came in, while Lampard waited until it was time to make an appropriate, but not associated, arrival. While in the car, Christian pulled out one of the chocolate gifts from two days ago.

Frank smiled when he saw it. He did love it when Christian used his gifts. Despite that, he felt like he should say something as a coach.

“I know I’ve bought those for you as a present, but as a coach, I should warn you against cheat days.”

Christian stuffed the wrapped in his bag. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Frank chuckled. “It’s fine. I’m just warning you for next week’s game.” He waited for the implication to settle in, and then he turned to see Christian’s reaction. “Need you in shape.”

“Really? You’re starting me?” Christian was beaming.

Frank nodded, and before he could say anything, Christian dived in for a kiss. Lampard laughed against the boy’s lips. He could taste the chocolate and excitement on his tongue. He was so happy. Fuck, did Frank love it when he was happy.

When they separated, Christian was practically bouncing. “I’ll see you at practice,” he told Frank as he got out of the car. Once the boy was out of sight, Frank sunk his head against the steering wheel and moaned how he was so whipped. Then, Frank laughed, because he was sure nothing could wipe off his smile for days.

Just a few more games, Frank thought. A few more games and Christian can show off how good he is, and they can come out to the world.

***

Once Christian got his uniform, he hastily made a trip to the showers. He was diligent, checking to see if there was anyone present before undressing. He went inside and used the showerhead to clean the cum out of his pussy. He wasn’t able to earlier. He knew Lampard liked it when he went to practice with his cum still inside him, but Christian wasn’t sure he could handle the discomfort of dried cum scraping between his thighs. Upon finishing, Christian got dressed. When he looked in the mirror, he noticed he was smiling.

Despite last night, Christian had a right to smile. He was playing soon, and that meant everything was worth it. Lampard might think of him as a tool to get off, but the alpha wouldn’t play Christian if he were a liability. All the omega had to do was score more goals, and people would know he was more than an omega who fucked his way to the top.

Just a few more games, Christian thought. A few more games and he wouldn’t have to sleep with anyone anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing. I really do. I've wanted to write a story featuring unreliable narration/dual perspectives for a long time now, and here it is. I think one of the reasons I got into football was the fact that there are so many possibilities and so many kinks I could write about--I just have to find the pairing that fits. I have about 8 one-shots planned and I am on a roll. This is also a pilot one-shot which means there's a possibility (very likely) of a continuation this summer. 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!
> 
> I’m on twitter, and it’s a good place to reach me if you want to know what I’m working on at the moment. I also have a separate site for original works.
> 
> Twitter: [@sometimesimeow](https://twitter.com/sometimesimeow)  
> Literary Website: [Murder at the Cathouse](http://www.murderatthecathouse.com)  
> 


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